word perfect

Kennedy shoved the keys into my hands. “You do it.”

“Why does this feel like we are breaking in?” I said as I fumbled the keys. There were only three keys on the ring, and I didn’t know which one would let us into the brown, two-story townhome. The uncomfortable tremble in my hands was shaking the keys until they rattled.

“Because we have never been here without her.” She confirmed. “It seems a little creepy to be going into someone else’s house without their permission.

“She left us the house Neddy; this is our house now.” I tried to comfort her while I tried to comfort myself. Someone from the hospital had called our mother to let her know that her sister had not survived. They were thinking it was a heart attack. Or maybe a stroke. Odd for a fifty-two-year-old without a family history.

“If that was meant to be comforting, lil Sis, it wasn’t.” She said giving me a nudge. She whispered, “you know she died in there.”

“Did you have to say that?” I looked right at her. “You aren’t helping. She was so young and gone so fast. I can’t imagine this place without her.”

The unit was nestled in a mixed community of small, young families in their starter homes, aging residents who were just embarking on retirement and a mix-matched gaggle of singles who worked too many hours and didn’t know any of their neighbors.

Aunt Teresa had moved in when the unit was new at the turn of the century (2000). Unit #290 was on the second row of units and the second one in. On the third key, the lock slid open without even a hint of restraint. The mechanisms were soft from use. The smell of lilac wafted out of the house. It was Teresa’s favorite scent.

We stood framed in the doorway. Neither of us wanted to be the first to step in.

“Where in the place did, she die, exactly?” I asked.

Kennedy shook her head, “Mom didn’t know. Teresa was able to call 911 but she was gone by the time they got here. I really hate that she was alone. Maybe we should’ve stayed closer?”

“You couldn’t have done that with Blake’s job.” I confirmed.

“And after you finished your degree, you had your internship…” She nodded.

I grabbed Neddy’s hand. And sighed deeply. “Let’s make a pact. We can’t change the past now. Let’s not look back. Whatever we find in here, we just need to figure out what happens next.”

“I’m in.” She agreed. “No regrets. Just plans.”

“Besides. We both have flights on Friday. We gotta get this place sell ready in three days. We don’t have time to waste.” I pulled her inside behind me. “Where would you like to begin?”

“Let’s take a look around and then we’ll decide what to do first.” They took the long hallway toward the back of the townhome. They stopped at the door on their right that led to the garage. Everything was just as she had left it. Her Volkswagen Bug was parked in its spot with a flower popping out of the flower holder beside the steering wheel and the garage was impeccably organized and clean. A neighbor once said Teresa’s garage was the only one in the neighborhood clean enough to eat off the floor.

At the end of the hallway was the living room and kitchen with a dining room attached. The walls were lined with books. Teresa only kept the books she had read. And she read prolifically. I pulled one off of the shelf and flipped through it. Her notes and snarky remarks were hand-written in the margins in her loopy handwriting. I touched it reverently. This is not going to be easy! The place still felt warm with her spirit.

A thank you card had been slipped in the back cover of the book from a friend named Catherine. Teresa had taken her to the doctor’s appointment when Catherine found out she had cancer. She thanked Teresa for staying with her that night until she had cried herself dry. Typical Teresa. She always took care of others with her whole heart.

The fridge still had a plate on the top shelf covered with plastic wrap – her dinner for that night.

There were three rooms upstairs. The master bedroom at the top of the stairs was put together like she was expecting guests. The bed was made, the bathroom was spotless. She wasn’t a clinical Clorox clean but a welcoming clean with flower petals. The doors to both rooms at the end of the hall were slightly open. Kennedy and I both pushed one open at the same time. The blinds were open and both rooms were flooded with light. The room on Neddy’s side was a guest room with a pink and yellow bedspread and a rocking chair. Behind my door was an office with a desk, a single letter opener with silver roses on the handle, and Teresa’s laptop on a dark-wood desk. Her personalized notecards were open as if she had just sat down to write one. The top one had a name on it in her calligraphic print. Underneath the name was a birthday.

“Look at this!” I gasped. “She still has it!” And by ‘it,’ I meant Teresa’s Dell Pentium 4 computer with the bulbous screen and fat tower. “Do you remember playing Mafia on this when she had us over for sleepovers?”

“No way!” Neddy shouted. “Turn it on. Let’s see if this old beast still runs.”

I hit the power button, and I could hear the fan kick on inside. It whirred to life with a few clunking and thud sounds. I plugged the screen into the back of the tower, and it sprang to life. “It’s working.” I whispered.

We were mesmerized as the screen swam with blue light speckled with the icons of the waiting applications. I moved the wired mouse and the white arrow appeared. I was about to click on the Games Icon when I saw one in the upper right-hand corner, a powder blue, pen tip icon for Word Perfect. I double-clicked on it without thinking twice. I hit File and Open. A list opened up before my eyes. It was Teresa’s journal. She had file folders for each year, subfolders for each month and an entry for almost every day.

“Look at this Neddy. It’s her journal.”

“Should we be reading it? It seems wrong Tash. Don’t do it.” Neddy put her hand over mine on the mouse.

“It’s her story.”

“Let’s keep going. Tasha, I don’t know if we should read it.”

I looked at the waiting folders. Clicked the program shut. I took my hand off the mouse. And stood.

We went downstairs and started in the kitchen. It is always easier to get rid of someone else’s condiments than your own, especially the ones in the door that age at lightening speed. We laughed and chatted as we threw things out. We made a pile of things that were canned that could be donated to the local food bank.

We ordered in a pizza and tried to decide what to do with all of the books. We pulled out the ones that we wanted to take with us. Neither of us had the space for all of them or a way to get them home.

It was getting late when we pulled open the door to the under-the-stairs storage. That was clearly a project for the morning. We talked on the couches until sleep consumed us.

Something woke me in the darkness. I felt on the verge of tears. Kennedy was still asleep on the couch across from me.

I made my way upstairs and turned the computer back on. It was hard to say what was causing the feeling, but I felt like Teresa had something to tell me.

I went back to the first file I could find in the journal folders and started to read.

I hadn’t realized that light was coming in through the blinds on the window. I could hear Kennedy coming up the stairs calling my name. “Tash, what are you doing up here? Are you going through the closets?”

Then she saw me at the computer looking like a guilty child. “Are you reading her journal?” She accused, not in an angry but a disappointed voice.

“I have to show you something.”

“But it’s not ours to read.”

“She left it to us. Maybe she wants us to know who she is, deep down. When I couldn’t sleep, I felt like she wanted me to read it.” I held my breath. Should I tell her what I had read in the hours while she slept. Would Teresa want me to tell her story? I felt it in my heart. The answer is yes. Yes. “I found something. Neddy. She had a baby. Teresa was a mom.”

Neddy sunk to the floor behind the desk. “She what?”

“She met someone. He worked in her office. She decided not to tell anyone. I don’t even think Mom knows. She doesn’t ever even mention the father’s name.”

“How does someone hide this for nine months? When did this happen? What happened to the baby?”

“It was the year she worked back east and rented out this place to that young couple with the new baby. Do you remember?”

“The Fentons. They had a little girl. I don’t think she even charged them rent.”

“Because that is who Teresa is. Mom wanted to go and see her, but she told her not to come until the end of the summer. That she was too busy and didn’t have time for guests. I think Teresa knew when she left that she was expecting.”

Kennedy had her hand at her mouth. There were tears sliding down her face.

“Teresa had a daughter. She gave her up for adoption,” the tears were running down my face now also, “and I don’t think she ever saw her again. She doesn’t ever mention it again.” I took a broken breath. “Until last year. She had started looking for her.” I held up the personalized notecard with the name and date on it. “I think this is her. She would only be 5 or 6 years younger than us.”

“She needs to know about her Mom. She is the one who needs this journal.” Neddy whispered. “You found it for us and her.”

We abandoned cleaning out the house. We opened Teresa’s laptop and started with her search history. She had been on three websites where biological parents were posting information in case their children wanted to find them. Teresa had already taken the DNA test and posted her results on a few sites so that her daughter could find her.

“We need to check her e-mail. What if someone has reached out to her?” I said. It took us several tries at the password. We found her cell phone by her purse near the front door and reset the password. There was an e-mail from the day after she died with a subject line: my daughter is looking for her birth mom. I clicked on the e-mail and Kennedy bent over my shoulder and began to read. It was from an adoptive mother who was trying to help her daughter find her biological mom. They had done the DNA test and Teresa came up as a match. Had she given up a baby for adoption in 1999? Was she interested in getting to know her daughter? She left her name and a phone number in her short message.

“We should call her, shouldn’t we? Look, she only lives two hours from here!” Neddy said.

“I think we should call and tell Mom first. And then, yes, I think we ought to reach out to this woman. Her daughter should know what an amazing mother she had.”

We called our Mom. It was hard to know where to begin. But I told her how I had found the journal and how I couldn’t sleep, and it felt like Teresa was telling me to read it. I started talking faster as I told her what I had read. I told her what I had found and the name and birthday on the note. I told my Mom that Teresa had named the baby after her. Mom sobbed silently for several minutes. “Teresa always wanted to be a mom.” She whispered.

“Mom, are you okay if we call this lady?” I asked carefully.

“Yes. I want to meet my niece!” Her voice broke mid-sentence. “I want to tell her all about my sister!”

Neddy pushed. “Let’s call her right now.” And she handed the phone to me as she had the keys the night before.

I held my breath as I dialed the number. I pushed the button to call before I lost my nerve. There was a hesitant “Hello?” at the other end.

“Is this Sylvia Knighton? My name is Natasha Beddington. My aunt is Teresa Scoville. She gave birth to a little girl on April 3rd, 1999….” I could hear her begin to cry. “I am here with my sister Kennedy White. We have so much to tell you. Do you happen to have any time between now and Friday?”

“You tell us where and when and we will be there. Can Teresa come with you?”

I drew breath and began to tell her the story much like I had told my own mother. Sylvia seemed to be holding her breath on the other end of the line. She responded quietly with an emotional “oh no.”

“Can you meet us this afternoon? We have so much to share with you!”

“We will be there. I can’t wait for my daughter to meet her aunt and her cousins. She is a little lost right now and I think this will help her. To know where she comes from.”

“She comes from an angel. We can’t wait to tell you more about her and get to know her daughter. We will see you soon.”

I hugged Neddy. “Can you believe this? Let’s go pick up Mom and take her to meet her niece.”

They picked the perfect book from the bookshelf. A lilac candle. And a picture of Aunt Teresa to take with them.